In My Mind I'm Going To Aventura

 Ah, Aventura. Pasadena is the "City of Churches." Aventura is the "City of NO Churches." In a municipal fact that always makes me laugh, the city has zero. They have something like 10 different synagogues, ranging from the yuuuuuge Aventura Turnberry Jewish Center, where we attended some weddings and Bnai Mitzot, to smaller Chabad satellites in the various condos. Yep -- if you worship the Son or Nephew (Mohammed), you have to leave city limits.

Unsurprisingly, Aventura is home to by far the best Jewish deli in the state: Mo's Bagels and More. It's co-owned by, of all things, Egyptian Mo, who realized shortening his name to Mo from Mohammed might be good for business. The co-owner is Paul, a Venezuelan Jew who is a pretty good family friend -- his wife is one of D1's mentors in Federation. Paul is also newly elected to the Aventura Commission, and will likely end up mayor of the Commission which, unsurprisingly, consists of all Old Testament folks.

Paul and Patricia live there, on Williams Island, a luxury development built by Trump. No -- not THAT Trump, but Jules -- the Jewish and maybe not as rich version. There's also a developed named Billy Joel -- but not the singer.

Stu and Traci also live there, in a lovely townhouse development called Aventura Lakes, which I last visited pre-plague. Old friend Allison started a text thread to keep us all posted on her Dad Sy's progress -- he had major health issues, and we thought it might be the final chapter for this wonderful 90 something man -- but Sy rallied, and is doing great.

Allison had on the test Wifey and me, Paul, Patricia, Stu, and Traci, and also Cara, who is close with Allison and Wifey. This gets confusing, as I learned last night on Zoom as I tried to explain the connections to Barry and Donna. But Al said the nice but really doesn't mean anything "We should all get together," and then Traci did the nice AND meaningful  "OK -- my house April 29th -- I'll make my signature rib roast."

The funny thing is that Traci doesn't really know Cara, who was on the thread, and Cara assumed the invite was coming from Wifey, though if Wifey ever texted "I'll make my signature ANYTHING," anyone who knows her would call the cops and report a kidnapping.. When I pointed out this to Stu, being the gracious host he is, he said of course Cara was welcome, and the night was set.

Coincidentally, Cara just moved last month to the Vi, in Aventura, and Wifey and I will fetch her on our way.

This late addition seems like no big deal, but it contrasted with me how some folks FREAK when an extra guest appears at a function. Paul reminds me of one time it happened to him -- he popped in on a birthday celebration just to give the birthday man a hug and was greeted with his seething daughter -- "What are YOU doing here?!" she demanded. Paul assured her he wasn't there for the cheap Italian food -- he just wanted to hug her Dad, which he did, and then left. Nah -- Stu and Traci say "Grab a plate -- great to have you!"

And then, Stu and Traci texted Donna and Barry -- would they come as well? They would, though Barry grouses about having to return across the Broward -Miami Dade line on weekends after making the commute all week. I suggested maybe they carpool with Allison, who now lives in Cooper City, or as she calls it, in her inimitable Allison way, "Booper Bitty." I hope they get that figured out -- they adore Al, and will enjoy catching up on the journey to the City of No Churches.

I told Stu I would bring the vodka, and grabbed a big bottle of Ketel at Total Wine yesterday. The cashier said "But Wait. There's More!" Apparently Ketel came with a jar of gourmet "Filthy Olives," which retail for $8. So I grabbed an extra set -- D1 and Joey are bringing the boys tomorrow, and Joey just might twist my arm to make it a bagels and martinis kind of Sunday.

So I-95 soon beckons, my big man sized SUV. I've been enjoying driving this full sized vehicle around -- actually getting in without having to bend my aging neck. Ah. And the middle seats are captain's chairs, so Cara will be comfy for the 5 minute drive from the Vi to Aventura Lakes.

I'm most looking forward to this get together tonight -- with friends I've had and been privileged to introduce to they became friends, too. Barry and I met when we were boys -- he was 17 and I was 19. This July we turn 62 and his big one: 60. 

Lots of good times and riches and son of a bitches have gone by in our friendship time, to borrow from Jimmy Buffet. But tonight just the good times. But no New Testament prayers...

Two Night Bachelerhood

 So Joey headed to Dallas on business, and D1 asked Wifey if she wanted to come stay with her, and play with the grandsons. She did, and headed up to Shorecrest Wednesday afternoon.

I went to Brickell, and had lunch with Stu, and the highlight of the day was a long catch up with Brian, our former of counsel partner. Brian's a great guy -- joined us in '07, and really had a tight future with Stu -- working cases together. He was married to a fellow Miamian, and they had 3 little boys -- the Ds used to babysit.

But, alas, the wife was unhappy. They belonged to a rich synagogue, and the wife didn't like being one of the poorer members -- the synagogue had a lot of old Miami Jewish money. She was also one of those Miamians who never accepted the Latinization of our town. Whatever. Brian decided to make her happy, and he moved the family to Orlando, where they would be, in contrast, of a higher station in life.

Alas, his wife learned that, wherever you go, there you are. She was deeply depressed. Brian got a great job, and the boys thrived, but their marriage ended. Brian told us he so regretted moving to please his wife -- he misses the fraternity we built here -- after work cocktails where we would discuss the cases and life.

Luckily, his boys have soared. The oldest is graduating UF, the middle one a rising junior at college in PA, and the youngest beginning high school -- and is a violin virtuoso. Still, Stu, Brian and I lamented what may have been -- we all worked great together. And the thought of trying to make your spouse happy at the expense of what YOU wish in life -- well -- that's a fools' errand.

Anyway, I planned on my typical bachelor night, when Wifey is out of town -- dinner at a bar. I drove to Captain's Tavern, and got a seat next to three older ladies, who were finishing up. They were flirting with the bearded bartender, who asked if they wanted one check or three "Well -- are you into threesomes?" the youngest, probably 60, asked. Oh boy.

It took awhile for him to get my drink, and then he was dealing with all of the other orders. It occurred to me that Stu and I had eaten lunch just 3 hours earlier, and I wasn't very hungry, and so left after the one drink. I started watching the Heat game with the dogs -- they weren't interested, and when I told them the next morning the Heat had upset the #1 seed Bucks, they were nonplussed.

Yesterday I met Juan for the workout, and then ran a few errands. Dinner time came around. Would I do my bar dinner thing? I would not -- too lazy to change out of my shorts -- I opted instead for some microwaved freezer chicken.

Meanwhile, Wifey stayed an extra night, and is coming home today. Tomorrow night we head up to Aventura for dinner with Stu and Traci. In a funny twist, Traci invited a bunch of people on a text thread, which included Wifey's friend Cara. Cara barely knows Traci and Stuart, and assumed it was US hosting. When I pointed out the mistake, Stu, ever gracious, said of course Cara was welcome, and so we'll fetch her from her Aventura apartment -- she moved there from Belle Isle last month.

Sunday, D1 and Joey are bringing the boys here for bagels and day drinking. D1 bought a wagon with a cover -- Joey, skilled in ways I am NOT -- will put it together and we will take the little guys for a walk around the 'hood in search of peafowl and iguanas.

So bachelorhood is ending, and that's ok. I enjoy it for a bit, but prefer the company of Wifey. She's headed to a wedding, solo, in Colorado in August, and given the logistics of her going without me, may turn into a far longer trip. I will, like Gloria Gaynor, survive.

Sunny's Yahrzeit Ten Years On

 So on April 27th, 2013, my Mom Sunny died. We knew it was coming -- the night before her breathing, under the blissful morphine, was shallow. My sister of another mister Mirta was with her, and insisted on staying when I left Miami Jewish for the evening. Mirta and I spoke late -- she had to grapple with the hospice people for another morphine dose -- like many hospice people at the end, they are kind of scarce to find, but tough, loving Mirta got what was needed, and Sunny rested peacefully. I told Mirta to go home -- I would be there early the next day.

I woke up early, and drove to Little Haiti, and stopped for gas right next to MJH. As I was pumping, my phone rang -- it was the social worker. Sunny had just died. I told them I was literally right next door and would be there in minutes. That gave them the time, mercifully, to clean things up, so I wasn't greeted by the stench of the last bowel movements -- instead that sort of sickly sweet disinfectant nursing homes seem to get in bulk.

Mom lay there peacefully, of course, and I called the Neptune Society for the pickup. They asked her weight, which they need to know for the number of crew they send -- Sunny was a mere wisp when she died -- well under 100 pounds. 

Wifey was due to come later, and fetch her Dad who was also a MJH resident, and walk him over. Her friend Edna was in town, too, visiting her parents. At the time, we were MAJOR MJH patrons!

I knew my father in law Richard feared death, and tried to get Wifey on the cell to warn her to take her Dad back to his room, but as she pushed his wheelchair, she was talking to Edna and ignored the call. I heard the trio coming down the hall, and I came out of the room and tried a comical semiphore signal to keep them away. It was no use -- they wheeled in -- and Richard accepted that his consuegra had died.

Coincidentally, Dr. Barry came by, too, to say his goodbyes to Sunny. He came down the hallway and I snarked "Well, you're a little late, Dude." Still -- it was a great comfort to have him there.

I called Mirta and she offered to rush back. I told her no need, but would see her later. Sunny meant a lot to her.

As we gathered in the room, a large Black man from Neptune arrived, and gently placed Sunny in a blue velvet sack. I kissed her face goodbye before he zipped it up, and with little effort wheeled her body out. And that was it -- the last time we saw her in person, in that form. Comedy would, of course, ensue later.

Well, as my late boss Ed always noted, even in times of financial difficulty for the firm, "Ya gotta eat," and so Wifey returned her Dad to his room, and I took Wifey, Edna, and Barry to nearby Soyka, which had become a favorite when we visited MJH, as we often did.

D1 came over and joined us. It was by now early afternoon, and I led a toast to a great lady -- one who fiercely loved her family and friends.

A week or so later, I got word from the crematorium that Sunny's "cremains," a word I really dig, were ready, and they would FedEx them to my house. By then, D2 was back from the end of her junior year at UF. The Ds and Wifey went out shopping -- it was the day before Mother's Day. The FedEx guy delivered the wooden box while they were out, and I placed it atop a rolltop desk in the family room.

When my three ladies came in, they didn't notice it. I said sternly "This is the respect you show for Grandma Sunny?" as I pointed to her boxed cremains. "Oh G-d, Dad!" As I said, comedy ensued. We all agreed that we didn't want to keep the cremains just hanging around, and the following day, Mother's Day, appropriately, we would bring Sunny to join her beloved Hy in the ocean.

My California sister was wrapped up in son issues, which unfortunately remain, and she wasn't going to make the trip East for this. My Florida sister was, I think, on a cruise.

So we drove to Matheson Hammock, with intent to commit a violation. You're supposed to only place cremains miles offshore, a law that makes zero sense, as they're far less an environmental hazard than pelican poop and other natural additives to the Bay.

We parked, and traipsed a bit through the mangroves. I spread the cremains, which are sort of like concrete mix with a few bone fragments. We said our loving words to Sunny. And then a really cool thing happened.

As we walked back, a flock, if that's the word, of beautiful white butterflies flew past us. I had never seen them before, and haven't seen them since. It was, we knew, a message from our beloved mother and grandmother.

And now a decade has passed. The Ds are both married, and there are 2 beautiful grandsons -- Sunny's great grandsons, who she never got to meet. Hopefully D2 will join that club and give us some more.

I just viewed a video of Wifey and the little man -- she spent the night with D1 and the boys -- Joey is in Dallas on business.

Hopefully I'll get over to Matheson, and look at the water. D1 lives near Biscayne Bay, and she talks to my parents whenever she is there --introducing her beautiful sons. I'll try to be near the ocean at 4:30 -- which is Grandma Sunny time.

Years ago, we were returning from an outing. Sunny was in the back of our van, or SUV. It was quiet. All of a sudden she looked at her watch, sighed, and said "Ah -- it's 4:30." Wifey asked, so what? There was no so what -- Mom had her own internal voice and logic, and was famous for her non sequiurs. 

But now 4:30 is "Grandma Sunny time."

I love and still miss you, Mom. Your memory is a blessing to me and my family.

Mere Props To Another Relationship

 Ah, the study and analysis of human nature is a never boring pursuit. Just this am I had a long talk with an old friend who is sadly dealing with a toxic son in law. Her daughter has had serious problems, but the son in law is bad -- like should be in prison for January 6 stuff -- bad. She has tried to have some sort of relationship with the loser, but realized that anything she shares with her daughter goes right back to the abusing husband. 

She asked my take, and I told her that her daughter knew she could leave the guy -- there was plenty of financial and emotional support for her and her little girl if she did -- but had chosen to stay with the guy. And I pointed out that, despite the best intentions, my friend was really just a prop in the play that is her daughter's dysfunctional marriage.

It's easy to mistake the two. I like to think that as I age, and gain wisdom, I realize when I think I have relationships with people that aren't truly so. Sometimes I'm just the subject of discussion for others. That's fine, but I have to keep my efforts to those people to a minimum.

The other day I got a message from a cousin, who I haven't seen in person in decades. I didn't even know she had moved to South Florida from New York, to give an idea of our lack of closeness.

Years ago, her father, my uncle, was given a terminal cancer diagnosis by a doc in Delray. He and my aunt asked me if I could get them to see a liver maven at UM. There was a top 10 national liver guy there at the time -- Eugene Schiff. I called Dr. Barry and got my uncle in to see him in a week or so, versus the months it would have taken to get an appointment. And Dr. Schiff delivered great news: the Delray doc was half right -- he DID have liver cancer, but it was slow growing, and he would die WITH it versus OF it. Dr. Schiff was correct -- my uncle died of heart failure some years later -- his liver behaved.

I met them afterwards, my uncle, aunt, and cousin, and took them to a restaurant on South Beach -- not their typical kind of place. When the check came -- wasn't nobody making a move to grab it, so I did. Nice deal, Wifey noted -- you give concierge service AND it comes with a free expensive dinner!

Well -- now the daughter asked me for a GI doc, since "all the ones I see in Palm Beach County are money grubbing idiots." I shared with her the name of the doc D1 and Wifey see -- a UM faculty member. She messaged me back -- first appointment in October. She ended up going elsewhere.

Yeah -- new Dave versus old Dave. The cousin isn't on the concierge service list like many were in the old days. I figure a name is enough -- I don't have to see to any more. 

If we learn nothing else as we age, we should learn to take a hint. This am I was on a call with someone who obviously would have rather not been chatting with me, and a neighbor, who is a pretty close friend, pulled up. Gloria saw I was on the phone, and drove off. My phone mate hurried me off the phone anyway.

The good news is, Wifey and I are taking Gloria out for dinner this week -- to catch up. I always learn something from her when we're together -- she's so well read and informed, and we love comparing notes on some of our more colorful neighbors. 

Bob Seger sang it so poignantly in "Against the Wind." We need to learn "What to leave in; what to leave out."

So on to the final week of April. You never know what the days will bring.

Social Saturday

 Wifey claims to be an introvert, which many people don't buy. I think it's more accurate to say she just prefers to socialize less than I do -- especially if it means "doing more than one event in a single day."

Well, yesterday we drove the new manly Caddy SUV up to Aventura, to Mo's. My nephew of another mister Scott and his lady Sam were in town, for a pair of funerals, sadly. But hey -- ya gotta eat! So we met them and Dr. Barry and Donna, and later Paul, Patricia, Patricia's son Joey, and their new puppy Wolf joined the table.

It was terrific -- talking about life, and how parents mess up their kids without meaning to. But mostly it was great to catch up on the life of the two young D.C. journalists -- Scott works for WTOP, a top radio station in D.C., and Sam works for CNN. There were no Trump supporters at the table.

After, Wifey learned that the passenger seat in the new SUV reclines all the way flat, like an airplane Business Class seat, and took full advantage, while I drove home. After naps, we were ready for party #2 -- a celebration of our neighbors' daughter starting her Peds residency.

They're a delightful Persian family, and their girl Ghazal is a gem. Tall and beautiful, she wants to be a pediatrician, and did a "couples match" with her boyfriend, a tall, very gringo Floridian from Merritt Island, who wants to be a neurologist. They're headed to U Maryland, Baltimore for training together.

The family and friends were so warm and loving -- and knows how to party! They had a bar set up, and the most delicious kabobs and desserts. Ghazal's Mom tearfully thanked all of us for helping to share G-d's blessings of her wonderful kids, as well as the soaring of the futures of the future FSU Med students in attendance. There were shouts of "Inshallah" and even some uulating! It was so heartfelt and moving.

Wifey and I talked mostly with Jose and Lupita. Jose is Wifey's neurologist, and now Chief at UM. He cared for Wifey after her stroke. Lupita and he med in Mexico in med school -- though she never practiced medicine -- opting for full time mothering of three wonderful sons. The middle one came by, too, and also shared great news -- he was accepted to start med school, too, in Milwaukee! We met him when he was a mere tyke, and now he seems poised to follow his parents' footsteps.

Jose and I talked about our backgrounds. He's a Mexico born Sephardic Jew. His parents were from Syria, and like my late father in law, Jose's Dad fought in the Israeli Independence War. After that, he was a foreign service man for Israel, before ending up in Mexico. Jose had amazing tales to tell of his family.

Though Wifey grumbled about "another party," she had a wonderful time, too. It was impossible not to -- surrounded by the warmth and exultation of families celebrating the accomplishments of amazing kids.

I plan to email Mohammed this am, and tell him we were truly privileged to be included.

I joked with the proud parents that we should change their street name (they live across the street) to "Young Doctors' Way." We pledged to meet again in four years, after Jose and Lupita's boy matches with a residency. I think Jose hopes he chooses Neurology, too.

So it was a social Saturday. Today -- a quiet Sunday planned. This week we have lots of grandkid activity planned -- Joey is off to Texas for work, and Wifey and I plan to help out D1 a bit. Talk about proud parents!

If something is better than watching your kids soar, I have zero idea what it is. And yesterday, that was on full, beautiful display.

When We Were Lions on Brickell Avenue

 Ah, heady times for my partner Paul and me -- in the mid 90s, when we founded our law firm. A new restaurant started up then, before Brickell became, essentially, Midtown Manhattan, and we would go frequently. It was Capital Grill, an outpost of the famous D.C. steakhouse -- took over from Cye's Rivergate.

Cye's, owned by Cye Mandel, who got rich helping the Indians get into the casino business, was old school Miami. I used to visit when I was a young lawyer -- a few times ex president Nixon was there with his Cuban bud Bebe Rebozo, and a couple serious looking Secret Service guys, talking into their shoulders.

But Capital Grill was something -- still is. Paul convinced me to spring for a wine locker -- you paid, I think, $200 and got your name on a placque, and could keep your own stash of bottles there. The real purpose was for other lawyers and bankers to see your name and figure you were a big shot. We never put any wine in the locker, but it was fun to show the Ds and Wifey our names up there when they visited. They still have the lockers -- but the names are all of much younger guys.

Yesterday we stopped in for lunch -- and sat at the bar. The server was Jen -- there since 1999. We recalled her as a young girl -- now she has a son just graduating Columbus High, and headed to FSU. She smiled when she saw us -- recalled us well. We were lions on Brickell then. Paul was having drinks with Allison when they met a young lawyer, Steven (NEVER STEVE). Paul introduced them, even though he didn't know Steven. I never really liked the guy -- probably because he always corrected people who called him Steve. But they married, have two college aged daughters now, and are long divorced. Allison lives in Cooper City, and Steven is in a North Miami Beach apartment with a young new girlfriend. How cliched.

Anyway, we recalled some of our great times. Once we had dinner with Alan, Paul's friend since law school, and later disbarred. Some of his, um, female friends joined us, and they were not used to places like the Grill. They grew quite loud, and the manager Angela, a lovely lesbian who we had befriended, told us we had to keep it down, or leave. Alan kept it down.

Another time, we settled a case with "Cute Roberto," as the secretaries called the referral attorney. Sweet, naive seeming fellow. We handed him a check for $200K in our office, and then went to meet his lovely young wife for lunch. He asked we not mention the windfall -- he wanted to do it. He was so boyish.

We ordered cocktails, and then he said "Honey -- meeting these guys was the best thing to happen to my career. I sent them a case from primo Gonzalo, and we're celebrating the settlement. Before we came, they handed me a check for TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!" The wife beamed -- would pay for her new kitchen, she said. Paul and I kept poker faced -- wondering what Al had planned for the other $190K.

The tales were too numerous to mention, but Jen reminded me of one. One night I went to the men's room. Across from it, they had old style phone booths, with glass doors. I came out of the men's room and noticed a woman I recognized -- a JCC Mom. She was, well, not making a phone call with the fellow in the booth with her, who was bald. Her husband had a full head of hair. She saw me and put her fingers to her lips in a "let's keep this quiet" signal. I did -- all the way to the bar -- Jen knew her and her carryings on. Funny thing is -- her kids are now grown, and she's still married to the hirsute husband. I never liked him either -- too full of himself. Maybe the bald guy was more humble -- and fun.

So we shared a steak sandwich and a wedge salad, and 3 martinis. We each ordered one, and then shared the third. Jen essentially poured two full ones more -- I told Paul that this little trick was the best thing he ever thought of.

We walked back to the office -- no longer lions of 33 and 44. Now we're 61 and 72. Miami is no city for old men -- everyone we passed on the crowded sidewalks was younger than us. And that's ok.

Our trip back to our old restaurant was delightful. Jen told us they're knocking down the building, and preserving the Tequesta burial and society grounds under it. They're building two high rises west on the river -- Bacarrat themed. The plan is to relocate the Capital Grill into the lobby of one of them. Progress.

But those were the days for us...

Yom HaShoah

 So today is a rather dour one on the Jewish calendar -- Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. Rabbi Yossi and several of our friends are taking part in this year's March of the Living -- where they visit death camps in Poland, followed by a joyous stay in Israel. This year's is particularly poignant, as Israel is celebrating her 75th anniversary.

Rabbi Yossi has been sending videos of Auschwitz, as well as squares in Polish cities like Krakow, where Jewish life flourished before it was wiped out. One moving video showed shops with Mezuzah marks -- now just hollowed out parts of the door frames.

Yossi has asked me several times to go one one of these trips, and my responsive quip is that I participate in "Marriage of the Living," as Wifey is the daughter of Survivors. No one in our immediate family was affected by the Holocaust -- they all high tailed it out of Eastern Europe after some Russian pogroms -- but I have learned A LOT about the Shoah -- more than I dreamed I ever would.

Turns out the trauma of the times for my in laws -- having their whole families killed, and being put in slave and concentration camps as teens and young adults -- wasn't the end of it. No -- we still have to fight the demons of those times, in ways I could never have imagined.

Wifey has friends with similar backgrounds, who seem perfectly normal, and yet harbor deep feelings of persecution and distrust. Trespasses that non Survivor progeny might laugh off become deep seated "plots of evil." I still learn more about these over the years.

But still -- we realize how fortunate we are. And I chose to, today, recall D2 and Jonathan's wedding, in late January of 2020. Jonathan, like D2, is the grandson of Survivors. His grandmother Judy, one of the coolest people I have ever known, survived when righteous gentile neighbors put her into a convent as a little girl, in Hungary. To this day, Judy knows many Catholic customs better than actual Catholics -- and Judy has lived a life beyond any Hollywood movie. She has become a true matriarch of her family -- ruling with strength and love. She deemed D2 would become another granddaughter, and it came to pass. She and I enjoyed special celebratory hugs at the wedding.

Anyway -- Rabbi Yossi officiated that glorious evening. The chuppah was set up on the rooftop of the Betsy Hotel in South Beach. The Atlantic was across the street, and the sun was setting over the glorious Miami skyline. The light was so beautiful as to look fake -- like a film's lighting director contrived it.

Rabbi Yossi threw a curve ball. He said he never mentions the Holocaust during weddings -- why bring sadness to a joyous event. But he was too moved looking at the beautiful faces of the bride and groom -- both grandkids of Survivors -- and how it was the ultimate F You to Hitler and the Nazis. Of course, he said it more eloquently, but that was the clear message -- and it was one of pride, and hope, for the future.

My Dad would have cried. He wasn't at all religious -- he rebelled against the Orthodox upbringing he had -- but he was a fiercely proud Zionist Jew. Of course, he was cremated, as was my Mom, and their ashes placed into the Atlantic. I like to think their spirits were with us that evening, too. 

I greatly dislike when groups play the victim card. Everyone has suffered, at some point. The question is what you do going forward. 

And from two sickly young Jewish Poles, liberated by Russian soldiers, to two generations later having thriving, strong granddaughters, married to awesome young men, and now two beautiful grandsons -- well -- that to me means everything. That's how I will acknowledge this holiday.

Zoom Notary?

 So yesterday was a busy one at Villa Wifey. Our housekeeper was over with her assistant Isabel, doing the outside areas, which she does every three weeks. The lawn crew was there openly flouting Pinecrest's new law banning gas powered leaf blowers. No one has been jailed for that yet, as far as I know.

A tech from Dr. Drip, the best named pump repair company of all time, was over replacing my waterfall pump, which works off the sprinkler one, as we no longer use the sprinklers. I figure since we live essentially in a rain forest, whatever can't live without the natural rain doesn't need to be here, anyway.

D2 popped over with Betsy, on account of she is still getting over kennel cough, and couldn't go to doggie day care. She being the enormous puppy, not D2.

And, it was car day! My consuegro Ricardo really knows his business -- got it just about all done in a single day. First, an affable young fellow came over to appraise the girlie Lexus for an auction company who was going to buy it from Lexus Financial, and pay me any overage. He spent nearly an hour -- even using a meter to measure paint thickness. We chatted -- his father worked in the biz for many years, starting out with the Zinn family, whose son Robert is our neighbor -- the only brother NOT in the car business and therefore "flying commercial," as his wife Karen laments, instead of on the private jets his brothers own from decades of selling to South Florida.

When the young fellow saw the mileage on my nearly 3 year old car -- 17K -- he laughed. "Boy -- you sure didn't drive this much!" No -- my daily commutes to Brickell curtailed during the Plague and never really returned -- the longest I drove the car during the lease was to Delray for one dinner with friends.

As soon as he left, Willie arrived -- with my new MANLY vehicle -- a Cadillac XT6. He showed me some of the features, and D2 and Wifey got in for a ride around the block -- Wifey lamenting an inability to turn on the rear AC, until Willie showed her the way. I signed all the paperwork with Willie -- just a few documents. Ricardo had arranged e sign for most everything else -- except for a power of attorney for the girlie Lexus buyer, which would surprise me later.

We dropped off Wifey, and then I took D2 to Target -- there was still too much going on at the house to stay. We drove over as she attempted to link my phone to the new manly vehicle. I guess I should say OLD MANLY -- although plenty of Millennials seem to enjoy SUVs these days.

D2 was very happy with her Target shopping experience, since it turns out that even when you're a married 31 year old grown ass woman, when you shop with me, I pay the tab. "Wow -- this Target ROCKS," said D2.

She left with the puppy, and Wifey and I headed to the Gables to meet old friends Lew and Maria for dinner at Luca. They have the best pasta I ever ate, and we ran into D1's dear friend Chelsea with her boyfriend. I got great vibes from the young fellow, who splits his time between NYC and Miami. I hope he's the one, although a slight disappointment to Chelsea's Dad, who hoped for a Cuban son in law. This fellow is Jewish American. I figure since Cubans have been described as the Jews of the Carribbean, maybe Cecil will abide -- assuming they figure out the how to raise the kids thing.

We walked around, and in the car, Wifey was sneezing like a fraternity brother -- and not feeling well. Sure enough, she woke up this am with a full blown cold -- stuffy, sinus headache. We had plans to host a pregame before meeting Dr. Barry, Donna, and Barry's colleague for dinner tonight. We canceled the pregame, and I'll Covid test Wifey and me to clear me for being around others -- poor Wifey will stay home to recuperate. And worse -- probably no visit from the grandsons tomorrow. D1 had bought a covered wagon, and after Joey assembled it, was looking forward to a Grandpa and Daddy powered pull around the 'hood.

Meanwhile, Ricardo had called. He was hoping to get me $5-$7k profit for the girlie Lexus. Nope -- he said -- I got you $12K! I was shocked. I went back and checked my lease -- the adjusted cap cost of the car was $33 K -- after the discounts they were giving in that first year of the plague, when no one was leasing or buying new cars. Well -- turns out my Camry with the Lexus trim is in demand -- Ricardo found a buyer to pay $34.5K! He said it was truly a crap shoot -- he had a client with a Volvo that was worth barely more than the lease buyout. All I know is, I feel less guilty about the more expensive new vehicle now.

And then came the thing that blew me away. I needed to online sign a power of attorney so the auction company could deal with Lexus Financial. I went online -- it was about 10 pm, and was directed to a Zoom link where a very friendly actual live notary was waiting for me! After filling out the forms, and confirming my identity with the photo of the drivers license I sent, she had me raise my hand, on camera, and swear it was my signature! Wow! We really don't need to leave the house anymore.

Of course, I chatted with this nice Black lady -- she's a legal secretary in North Florida, and does this on call notary gig as a nice side hustle. It's sort of like driving for Uber, she said -- she just goes online if she feels like doing a few, and makes money. What a brave, new world.

So I should have the unexpected profit wired to my account Monday, and then someone will come to fetch the ES 350 -- turned out to be a better investment than many of my stock holdings over the past 3 years.

And hopefully Wifey and I test Covid negative -- so I can meet my boy tonight. If positive -- we hang in quarantine for several days. Damned virus -- I'm just glad it's tamed, compared to three and two years ago.

I assume next we'll be able to get jabs through a remote controlled drone. If you can get your signature notarized online -- why not?

Happy Birthday Mom -- Or Is It?

 We always celebrated Mom's birthday on April 13. Thirteen was her lucky number. Years later, when Wifey and I took her to a funny doctor's appointment, we learned she may instead have been born April 14th. Typical for Mom -- details weren't important -- feelings about people were.

It was a funny appointment, because we had to hide its significance. She was long under the care of Eric, my brother of another mother, and in her 90s she had developed lesions on her legs. Eric thought, correctly, it was Kaposi's sarcoma, a cancer common in the immunocompromised and very elderly. He wanted her to see his friend, a South African oncologist, for a consult.

The problem was, we knew seeing the "C Word" would freak Sunny out, so Wifey and I wheeled her into the office, hiding the sign that said "Oncology" from her until we could get her into an examining room. The affable doc saw her, confirmed it was indeed what Eric suspected, and said the alternatives were to do nothing or give her radiation. I chose the former -- seeing no point in putting her through more misery as she was clearly on her way off this mortal coil anyway. But we learned that maybe April 13 wasn't the day.

No matter. That's how we celebrated, and today is that day. She'd have been 103!

For her last birthday, we gathered at Miami Jewish Home on a rainy April Day. My family was there, along with my Florida sister and brother in law. My nephew's ex wife Cathryn came, with her pretty daughters, and my Tampa niece, her two kids, and husband were there, too.  My sister of another mister Mirta was there, too. She would visit Sunny a few times per week, and told me Sunny had a more profound impact on her life than anyone. That warmed me. We shared cake and poured Mom some champagne. She raised a toast and said "Happy New Year Everyone!" Yes -- the end was near, and sure enough she died two weeks later.

But what a life she led! She fell in love with the bookish boy across the street in The Bronx, and left the tri state area for the first time ever, to take a transcontinental train to LA to marry him. She did, and they lived in a bungalow in Pasadena where Dad was stationed -- keeping Japanese subs from torpedoing Southern California. Mom was the secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably typing for and bringing coffee to Manhattan Project geniuses as they planned the A bomb which finally ended WW II.

But by then, she was back in The Bronx, having my oldest sister, in January of 1945, followed by my younger sister in June of '48, and then me, a "change of life baby" in July of 1961. My siblings and I bookend the Baby Boom -- from pre hippie, to hippie, to yuppie.

Mom raised us all with unconditional love and support. She was no helicopter Mom -- just encouraged us to all find our lives and enjoy them. In 1979, she did something totally uncharacteristic: she took control of her life with my Dad. He was 60, and happily still working. I was getting ready to graduate from high school. And Mom flew to South Florida with her sister Lorraine to move my grandmother from her South Beach efficieny to a West Palm nursing home. While there, the two sisters bought condos in Delray -- having decided they were going back to the future -- 4 of the 5 siblings would again live close by, to recapture those happy post war days before they moved to suburbs on Long Island and Rockland County north of the City.

My Dad kind of shrugged his shoulders and complied. He then contrived to get me to follow -- sending in an application to U Miami. They sent me a half tuition scholarship, and I figured -- why not? Most friends were headed to NY area colleges, or in Kenny's case a Midwestern one (Wash U) and I thought I'd give the land of palm trees and Latinas a shot.

Well, Dad died just 3 years later, and all of the sisters and brother moved away -- Kings Point was not for them -- they wanted nicer homes. But my Mom stayed, and LOVED her condo surrounded by a huge parking lot, with just small stips of green. She stayed there, happily, for 30 years after Dad died.

She would fall, and Delray EMTs would help her up in those last months. Wifey joked she was sort of like a turtle who was on its shell, and simply needed to be righted and then crawl on.

But in May of '12, a bad fall put her in Delray Hospital, and Eric told me her albumin was consistent with starvation -- she simply wasn't eating enough to live. And so it was off to Little Haiti -- another chapter of dark humor.

I had fetched D2 at UF, and the plan was to drive her grandmother to Miami Jewish on our way home. I put Mom in the front seat of D2's Volvo, and D2 happily played on her laptop in the back seat. About 20 minutes into the trip, I glanced at Sunny and was convinced she had quietly died. I said nothing to D2 -- but was internally troubled. What I had wrought upon my rising college junior daughter? The thought that she was essentially in a hearse???

Luckily, around Hollywood, Sunny woke up and asked where we were. Whew! Psychological daughter trauma avoided!

We got her settled in, and headed for home. The next 11 months she was decently cared for, and grew close to Mirta, who was amazed at her upbeat demeanor -- even in a nursing home.

My favorite was wheeling her to a gazebo under ancient live oak trees. They had an ice cream machine, and we would share chipwiches. "Oh David. These are the most delicious ice creams I ever ate!" And so it went until a fortnight from the end.

Her only sadness was asking after her first born grandson -- the favorite. He apparently couldn't bring himself to visit her on account of her decrepit appearance "freaked him out." Whatever. At first I made excuses about "how busy he was," but later would just change the subject.  Other than that, she was happy. It was easy to redirect the conversation with a 92 and then 93 year old.

I think Sunny thought her life may have been over when my Dad died. He did everything for her. But instead, she had another great 3 decades. She traveled the world! She had a fascination with China since reading Pearl S Buck as a child, and she visited. There were multiple trips to Israel and Europe. Cruises all over -- Alaska -- and the Carribbean. I even sent her and my California sister on a short cruise from LA -- following a visit to the Central Valley.

She got to know her youngest grandkids -- my Ds. They adored her humor and quirkiness. She saw the older grandkids marry. She welcomed great grandkids! Yes -- the cliche is that it's all about the dash -- the one between the date of your birth and the date of your death. And Sunny's dash was bursting with life.

So she'll be on my mind today. She was a beautiful woman -- especially in her younger years -- and the fact that she loved and adored me so I'm sure gave me all the confidence I needed with the ladies. When a son gets that much of his Mom's love and attention, he knows he's of great worth.

It's a lesson D1 learned well -- she FAWNS over her boys. The little guy is a marshmallow -- the older one lacks nothing in self confidence. I just with they got to meet their great Grandma Sunny. The little one's name is after her -- she lives on that way.

Sail on, Mom. Hopefully I'll get to the ocean later today, or this weekend, and feel her spirit. Happy birthday, my dearest Mom.

And So This Is Pesach...And What Have You Done?

 So the Passover holiday slouches towards conclusion -- tonight for the reform and conservatives, tomorrow for the orthodox. Alas, but for the first seder, a wonderful time at our consuegros', Wifey and I haven't kept kosher, like we're supposed to.

In the buffet line of modern, non religious Judaism, avoiding leavened foods for the week was never one of my selections. Hopefully the Big Man decides to forgive -- along with the many things I'll need forgiveness for, if that's the way the thing goes.

So Monday the men from Chapman started their job on cleaning out our septic tank, and then stopped -- the truck was full! I'm not sure why they didn't know before hand, but I had nothing planned, and so off they went for the place down near Black Point where they offload the waste -- and returned in a few hours to finish the job. They were so nice I let them sell me $100 worth of bacterial solution -- on their claim that they are enzymes that assist in the breakdown of solids. I have become such a lay expert on septic systems I knew the actual academic research (talk about a shitty field for a scientist) said the stuff is worthless -- but doesn't hurt. Turns out the very first flush into a newly pumped out tank introduces all the bacteria it needs to do its work. Whatever. I paid the nice fellows and off they drove -- hopefully we're smooth sailing for another 2 years.

It also occurred to me that we are now on week 4 with no decision from the judge on our big, fat, attorney's fee case. I learned long ago that trying to read tea leaves based on how long a trier of fact, judge or jury takes to decide, is a fool's errand, so we just sit and wait.

Today I'm heading to the office, and Wifey is heading up to D1's house to watch the little guy, to be joined later by D2, while D2 takes to toddler to his allergist, in Hollywood. The big, charming boy has some food allergies, to tree nuts, and they treat them now by giving the kids micro doses of the allergens, so they build up a tolerance for them. It's a long slog, over several weeks, but D1 is committed to see it through.

She sent us a photo last night of the two brothers in a box, and my reaction was that of a millennial: I couldn't even. They are so adorable together -- the true blessings of our life.

D1 and I were talking about this unconditional love thing a few weeks back. She gets it now -- how I felt and feel about her and her sister. She was empathizing with Moms whose kids end up in awful life situations -- when they started out with all the love the Mom had. Yep -- it's the lesson I have been teaching since they were old enough to understand. Probably even BEFORE they could understand: life is NOT fair -- though it can often be exquisite.

Last night Dr. Barry and I spoke at length during his commute home. What used to be a 30-40 minute ride is now 1.5 hours, but the time flew as we solved all the problems of academic medicine, aging wives, and helicoptered adult kids.

We continued with a FaceTime cocktail -- I really don't like to drink alone -- and it let me polish off the last of the premium Beluga vodka I had been gifted. We recalled our college days, when we would sit around the dining room table in our on campus apartment and talk of our futures -- typically Eric was there, as well as a changing cast of other characters.

We couldn't have conceived some of the things that would come our way in the decades to follow those precious days --- when our only concerns were getting good grades and figuring out who we were as men.

The grades were good -- high enough to get us into med and law schools, anyway. The figuring out who we are as men continues to the present.

So Pesach ends. We told the tale of escape from slavery from Pharoah, wandering around without GPS for 40 years, and then finally getting the Big Man's ownership manual for us -- the Torah. Big book -- takes a full year to read -- and then you start over.

And the search continues -- for answers small and big -- for meaning.

Taking Care Of Shit

 So two years have passed since our last service, and it's that time again: have to get our septic tank pumped out. We're on city water, and recently our Village government circumvented a no vote on a bond issue to bring city water to everyone, but we remain without sewers in this 1950s era developed part of Pinecrest. 

At our first house, I learned first hand, or butt, the problems that result when a septic tank is NEVER pumped out -- we had to replace a whole drainfield, which was expensive. At that time, I became a lay expert on septic systems, and concluded that they need pumping out every two years -- lest the drainfields clog up, and require replacement -- which in my current house would be a $25K job.

We moved here in February, 2001, and in 2003, I called Clark Smith, the man whose company installed our system and thousands of others in South Dade. I liked him right away -- Korean War Vet, with the requisite sense of humor needed for his craft: "Number 1 in a Number 2 Business."

Clark was the patriarch of his excretory empire. He would proudly show me pictures of his palatial vacation home in Montana, and would add "Hey -- there's gold in shit!"

I strangely looked forward to our every two year meetings, and later, his son in law would come out -- a Cuban guy missing a tooth or two who was also hilarious. One year, he suggested I replace the usual concrete lid with a manhole, to make access much easier, "for good septic customers like you."

So every two years we'd meet, and I admit I looked into the tank to make sure there were no bodies there. I mean, I'm pretty sure I know Wifey well, but do you ever really know someone?

Well -- two years ago things changed. I called Smith Septic and they kept blowing me off -- telling me that their trucks were broken. I waited a month, and then called the other masters of the local trade: Chapman.

The owner told me Clark was retiring, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. Chapman came out and did a fine job, too. It was April of 2021.

So this am I called Chapman, and sure enough, they had a slot available. Lourdes just called to say they were on their way. Our tank is in the back yard, and the service trucks park outside the stone wall, along Ludlum Road, and have to hop over with the vacuum hose. I placed a red milk crate on the wall to show the driver where to park.

I'm most proud of being a great Dad. I'm also a true and loyal friend, and a serviceable husband to Wifey. I've been an ok lawyer -- now of emeritus status, as my friend Norman has correctly noted.

I'm also strangely proud of being a fine septic tank owner. I won't allow plantings over the drainfields. I get leaks fixed soon, lest too much water overwhelm the septic system.

Hopefully this time I get good marks, too.

If a man doesn't take care of his shit, well, as Don Corleone would have said, he isn't really a man.

Intimations of Mortality

 So last night Wifey and I had a thoroughly enjoyable dinner with our old friends Susan and Steve. We met through D2 and their middle son Spencer, friends in Middle School. They have 3 kids, and the youngest just graduated UM Medical School and is headed to UNC for Pediatrics Residency. Dr. Barry is one of her mentors. Their oldest, Ryan, is married and living in Dallas -- with a beautiful baby boy. So with Erin leaving, and Spencer in NYC, they're about to become true empty nesters.

We shared life tales about our wonderful kids, who we accept, we probably helicoptered too much. Then again, watching D1 and Joey with their boys, in the parent department, is hearing them say "Hold our beers." We'll see...

Susan and Steve are headed off to Santa Fe, a place I've visited twice and love. I told them to not miss Ranch de Chimayo, a truly memorable restaurant up in the mountains. They promised to go, and send a photo of the late Spanish guitar player, a Cubana redhead I met in October of 1982, on a college trip there with Eric. Long time ago.

Despite the delicious seafood dinner, and single martini, it was a restless night. And when I awoke, as the sun rose, for some reason I had two women on my mind: our dear friend Elizabeth, and my Mom, Sunny.

Sunny's birthday is coming up this week. She'd have been 103! Elizabeth's yahrzeit, though she wasn't Jewish, is, I believe, in May. She died two years ago.

The two of them truly adored each other. Mom always found Elizabeth so beautiful, bright, and sweet, and Elizabeth said Sunny was the coolest of friends' mothers. I have such nice memories of both of them staying over -- at our various houses over the years -- and sitting together talking. 

Sunny made it to 93. Elizabeth died far too young -- early 60s. Sunny's death was long in coming -- her final two weeks were a downward ride. Elizabeth's death was a shock -- she died in her bed after a day of vigorous hiking in the Utah mountains.

I miss them both. Sunny died before either of the Ds were married, and she never got to meet my grandsons. But she had a wonderful, full life, even though she doubted that would be the case back in 1982.

I remember us talking -- how would she go on without my Dad, the man who did everything for her? Well, she would, and saw the world, and got another 31 years of laughter and wonderful memories.

When she turned 80, in 2000, I took all of us to San Francisco -- my Ds, Wifey, and my sister Trudy. We met my California sister Sue and her boys, and toured the city and surrounding areas, packed into a minivan -- all 9 of us. I have a picture from Fisherman's Wharf which I treasure -- Mom with two punk rock fellows with Mohawks, sticking out their tongues. We laughed a lot on that trip.

And now my sister is nearing 80. Wow. Longevity among the women seems to run in our family.

Wifey thinks about Sunny often, and Elizabeth daily. She was such a dear friend -- always wanting what was best for Wifey, and savoring our company. She was a healthy eater, and would come stay with us with a cooler of food we had little of -- but I could usually get her to have a cocktail or two and some great Italian at Salvatore D's.

When I met Elizabeth, she was married to rock singer Pat Travers. We had some great times together -- I could listen endlessly to Pat's tales of playing with all of my music heroes. He played at our wedding -- along with the Borscht Belt-type band, and was wonderful. Elizabeth's sister Ruby called Pat to tell her about her passing, and even over the decades of their divorce, he was shocked and saddened. We all were.

I walked my beautiful neighborhood on a gorgeous morning. I used to wheel Sunny around here, and she loved it. I don't think she ever wrapped her head around the size of our house. She picked as her room a small bedroom near the garage. Wifey just had shelves hung there to make it a functional laundry room, but it will always be "Grandma Sunny's Room."

Elizabeth loved it here, too. We would walk the dogs together, and, as a trained botanist, she would marvel at all the flora. Once, she dug an area near our front gate, and planted some ferns in a circle, hoping Wifey might plant some bromeliads, too. We bought a brass placque that says "Elizabeth's Garden," and I smile each time I pass.

It's funny -- we take our lives so seriously. But in a few generations, at most, it's as if we weren't even here, except for the stories. I plan to tell my grandsons, and any future grandkids I am blessed to have, ALL about my parents. So they'll live on in memory -- as a blessing -- albeit not in person.

Young Man's Game

 So yesterday D1 tasked me with spending a few hours with the hilarious toddler. She has a nanny, who is most capable of watching both kids, but thought it might be nice to take out the little man, while she and D2 had a breakfast with Rachel, a dear mutual friend. Wifey doesn't "do mornings," but I do, and so agreed. It was delightful. It was also instructive. Any thoughts or fantasies I may have harbored about Chapter 2 fatherhood vanished into the ether.

It wasn't particularly strenuous. First Joey suggested I might take him to the local driving range, to hit a bucket of balls, but then I remembered I really don't like golf. The little guy does, and if my future involves watching him play on an organized level, I will proudly do so. But to me -- eh. I tried playing years ago, when Eric returned from Boston having taken it up, and for several months we played with our friend Pete and his law partner Gene. Within a few months, I ended up being the golf cart driver -- feeling like Furio, in the Sopranos, that it was a stupida f-ing game.

So no golf. I decided instead on a trip to Target, to pick out some toys for the little man and his baby brother. I also found a lovely T shirt for the nanny -- her first Canes swag -- she appreciated it. After Target, where we picked a truck, a small train, and some creature that dances from "Frozen," it was off to Bagel Bar East, for a Pesach violating breakfast.

We ordered two bagels with nova and cream cheese. The little guy polished his off, to the amazement of the waiter, two old guys at the next table, and a young trainer one table behind us. "Man -- he KILLED it!," said the young fellow.

Barry tells me that the sins of Jewish boys under 13 must be borne by their fathers, so, sorry Joey. He DOES keep kosher during Passover in the house, so hopefully the Big Man understands.

Stop 3 was Starbucks, in Miami Shores. They know him there -- he always gets a pink cake pop and "Cafe especial," which is steamed oat milk. I guess because it was Good Friday, the place was packed. I picked up the pop, he got a can of agua con gas (seltzer) and I lied to him that the "machine was broken," rather than wait in a packed place with a toddler for the order. He was momentarily unhappy, but soon got over it.

Next stop, since a Dad is always a Dad, was to fill up D1's SUV, which I noticed had less than half a tank. My Ds like me.

We went home, and the Little Man played with his new toys while the nanny fed and coddled the baby brother, who is adorable and amazingly easy. We joke with D1 and Joey that they had their kids in reverse from Wifey and me: D1 was so chill, and D2 a challenge. They seem to have it opposite -- and of course -the toddler is so disarmingly adorable, he gets away with everything -- just like his Tia did.

I had to wait for D1 to return, since we had switched vehicles for car seat purposes, and the little man and I watched TV -- Muppet Babies in Spanish! Who knew? I noted that Kermit was less wimpy in Spanish.

When he watches TV, he actually lets you pet him, and I stroked his arm and head while we watched. Then I taught him how to turn a yawn into a dinosaur roar, and we both laughed together. A lot.

So it was a delightful time, but when I got home, I fell into a deep nap. Man -- toddler watching is tiring!

I know plenty of older Dads, and many have the resources to have a staff. Our former next door neighbors were a lawyer my age with 2 grown kids, who then adopted his 30 year younger wife's son, and added 4 more kids!

Power to you, Mr. A! As for this aging fellow, occasional toddler/babysitting is plenty. Even with a staff, you worry. Holding hands in parking lots. Constantly watching out for dangers.

Stuff is TIRING!

I leave it to the younger guys.

Passover -- Emancipate Yourselves

 Tonight begins Passover, the critical Jewish holiday which recalls the tale of our modern people. I can't help but think of Charleton Heston as Moses, Edward G Robinson as Aaron, Lilly Munster as Zipporah (who imagined I would marry one?), and the great Yul Brymmer as Pharoah. That Cecil B. Demille!

Anyway, of course the story is the liberation of Jews from slavery in Egypt, with miracles from the Big Man, like killing the first born Egyptian sons (avoiding Jewish hovels by smearing lamb's blood on the door posts, which we continue to commemorate by playing mezuzazot there, all to convince Pharoah to "let our people go." He agreed, but then thought better of it, and it took the parting of the Red Sea for the Jews and drowning the chasing Egyptians to finally do the job.

Later, there was wandering in the dessert for 40 years, since no one wanted to stop and ask for directions, and finally arrival in the Promised Land, where the Big Man gave Moses the great Instruction Manual for Life, the Torah, which the petulant tribesman initially rejected, but then reconsidered when the Big Man showed He meant business!

We celebrate with a Seder, which means Order, since the lessons are each essential and must be taught and understood precisely, even by the moron son, who is part of the service. In Ashkenazi tradition, we eat gefilte fish, a pretty awful, rubbery mix of fish which is only edible when drenched in horseradish, at least to me.

Fortunately, the Sephardim, of which my son in law Joey is a member, sees gefilte fish as they would trayf, or unkosher food. In fact, I learned several Passovers ago that a grandfather derisively called Ashkenazim "Gefilte Fish Eaters." I LOVED learning that, and started referring to my close friends with "Waddup, my GFE???" It was my derivation of Blacks calling themselves the N word. I'm surprised it hasn't caught on.

Also, Sephardim have concluded that Passover allows rice, which Ashkenazim eschew, as rice might leaven a bit when cooked. I strongly favor rice -- another plus on the Sephardic column.

But most importantly, Joey's family is warm and loving and has embraced us beautifully -- I think Jacqui is hosting near 20 tonight. D2 and Jonathan are skipping -- going to Jonathan's family instead, which I totally understand, as matriarch Judy will be there, one of the most loving and powerful women I know. In fact, when I think of modern matriarch, Judy is it -- presiding over her amazing family with unending love and strength. She and I got each other immediately upon our meeting years ago. She deemed D2 would become another granddaughter of hers, and damned if it didn't happen. At the surprise celebratory party of their engagement at the Grammercy Park Hotel in  NYC, Judy hugged me and said "We did it, David!" Yes -- pretty special woman.

D2 felt a bit bad about missing her family, and so suggested we do "second seder" together. That will be dinner at Christy's -- with zero Passover food but some awesome prime rib and martinis. It's about being together, first and foremost.

So I plan to listen closely to the Haggadah, or guide book. Joey has written his own family's, which is wonderful -- this year the toddler will be old enough to get some of the lessons, while the 8 month old will probably just be his adorable marshmallow self.

But to me, the message is best shared by the late, great, Bob Marley, who, it turns out, may well have some Sephardic heritage on his white father's side. He sings "Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds."

In this time where we Jews are NOT literal slaves, we are constrained instead by our mental demons. Oh -- to be able to break those bonds and soar -- closer to the Big Man.

That would be the greatest Passover gift there could be.

The Point System

 Ah, frequent flyer and AMEX points -- a nice perk of having some bucks and spending them. When the Ds were little, we had a routine with points, from American Airlines. We would use the card that gave a point per dollar, plus miles flown, which back then for an active lawyer, were a lot. I would save up about $200K miles every few years, and we would use $50K per ticket to bump us up to Business from Coach when we would take long trips -- which, coincidentally, were every 2 years.

The only problem was having to go back to coach. On one infamous leg, we were bumped out of Business from London to Miami, and the Ds joked that I looked like Shrek in the coach seat. They were correct.

As we traveled less and spent more, the miles accrued. I never used them, but the Ds got wind, and THEY did. For D1 and Joey's honeymoon to Japan, a gift of 1 million miles from Amex got them Business both ways. They loved it.

For D2 and Jonathan's honeymoon,  they raided my AA account, and used 6 figures of miles to upgrade to Business to Greece and Italy and  home. It made me happy.

Wifey and I flew to France on Business, and didn't use miles, but since AA sent us on Iberia, there was some very big bonus -- more miles accrued.

Well, Saturday we went out with Joelle and Kenny, and discussed our next big trip. We're planning Argentina and Chile in December -- with a still undetermined number of people. We'll fly AA Miami to Buenos Aires, and home from Santiago. Wifey said, correctly, we ought to finally use some of our miles - I have more than 400K on AA.

I figured it couldn't be THAT hard to book using miles -- plenty of my fellow Boomers do it all the time. Ha. I should have known.

This am D2 called. I said hello. She answered with "Who's your pal? Who's your buddy?" She knows I can never resist Bill Murray references. She clearly wanted something. Yes -- more miles.

She was politic. "Dad -- either you should use them, or Jonathan and I will -- we're planning a trip back to Italy this Summer -- North this time." Apparently there's someplace called Lake Perry Como. Wifey was immediately jealous -- she's always wanted to go.

I offered a deal to D2 -- she could have the miles, but her mother would have to go along. Talk about a Hobson's choice!

Nah. Of course I told her the miles were hers. My kids know me -- I'm much more happy giving them stuff than having or even using stuff myself. I could be falsely self deprecating and deny this, but it's true.

But wait -- maybe there was still a deal to be cut -- a quid from D2 for the quo of the miles. I reminded her that Wifey was traveling to Colorado this August for a wedding that I had been uninvited to, for reasons too complex, absurd, and silly to even get into. But the trip for Wifey would be daunting -- the venue is 1.5 miles from Denver, and renting a car and navigating through the Rockies is probably beyond Wifey's capabilities at this point. Wifey may have to fly to the bride's mother's house and go with her and her husband -- turning a 4 day trip into one of a few weeks.

If D2 would accompany her mother... Alas -- not to be. The precise time of the wedding contradicts with the romantic trip to North Italy. Wifey will have to make her own way to the destination wedding. I bet she can.

And I will run the hotel for dogs. I rather like playing bachelor for a week or so when Wifey travels alone. My move is to go to one of several local places, eat dinner at the bar with a martini or two, and watch Sports Center or chat with the bartender. Then I Uber home. It's a nice change, but I look forward to Wifey's return. 

So we'll keep accruing those points, and letting the Ds and their men enjoy them. Snark aside, it makes me very, very happy.

Passover Time

 Wednesday is the first night of Passover. Somehow that holiday comes around every year! Ha.

Growing up in a non religious home, I have memories of Passover, but the seder consisted of a family meal with matzoh, and Manischevitz wine, but little more. Still,it provided the basis for a laugh of family lore.

My brother in law Dennis, Irish Catholic, was invited over -- I guess the year he and my sister started dating. I was a little feller, and don't recall this, but was told later. Dennis wanted to impress his future Jewish in laws, and brought to dinner a challah. After the laughter, he responded "What? It's Jewish bread, right?" Of course, the tale grew legs, including supposition about the baker who must have been thrilled to find someone to buy a challah that was going to be tossed. Wow -- this was in the 60s -- long time ago.

When I got to college, I would get invited to Jewish friends' houses -- usually Eric's. It was nice -- I learned a lot, but, truth be told, never avoided the bread the rest of the week.

One year we attended the Chabad community seder. It sure went on a long time. Now I notice they advertise facts that make it more attractive to the less religious: "Less than 3 hours. Most in English. Delicious food."

Luckily, since D1 has been with Joey, we score invites to our consuegros' house. They have by far my favorite seders. First, Joey wrote his own guide book, or Haggadah, in honor of his beloved late grandfather. It's beautiful, and concise. Also, Joey's family is Sephardic, and as proud as I am of my Ashkenazi heritage -- well -- Sephardic food is better. First of all, they allow rice. Also, they consider gefilte fish one of the worst foods ever. I eat it, with lots of horseradish, but objectively always think it's a strange rubbery mix of who knows what?

So Wednesday we'll be headed to Ricardo and Jacqui's, for what I know will be a warm and welcoming night. Plus, they just welcomed a new grandson, to go with the two they share and a beautiful granddaughter, so it should be the best Passover ever!

D2 is headed to Jonathan's sister up in Pembroke Pines, where there WILL be gefilte fish. D2 was a bit sad about missing us, and so asked if we wanted a "Second seder" Thursday night? D1 is busy, but Wifey and I are game. Since Jonathan works in the Gables, I suggested we hold said seder at Christy's -- haven't had a nice steak or prime rib in awhile. We're booked -- for maybe the least Jewish restaurant around. I look most forward to this week.

Still, though I don't keep kosher, or even close, I do try to glean meaning from the holiday. Of course, it commemorates freedom from slavery for my peeps -- when they were slaves to the Pharoah. Relating it to our modern days, the slavery is mental, as Rabbi Bob Marley of Trenchtown noted, and each of us must free ourselves.

It's much harder done than said -- we have demons that keep us down -- anxiety, and sadness, and a host of other toxic emotions.

More than ever, I know what I must do: deal with the bad I have no control over, and AVOID, like the worst iteration of Covid, the negative I CAN avoid.

Last night Wifey and I had dinner with Joelle and Kenny and another couple -- Shannon and Skip. Shannon is our commissioner locally, and Skip is her husband and law partner. The conversation was lively -- political, but not radical, and about travel and childhoods. Shannon was born in the US but raised in Peru. Skip is Cuban American, born and raised in Texas. I joked to them that Kenny and I were far more boring in pedigree -- a couple of blue collar Jews from Nassau County.

But the point is, it was an evening of upbeat feelings. There was no tensosity. That will be me, to the extent possible, going forward. Simple as that -- that will be MY freedom.

So we'll thank the Big Man this week, and end with the traditional "Next year in Jerusalem!" I've visited Jerusalem twice -- it's my least favorite city in Israel. If I moved there, I'd be a Haifa guy. But the symbolism is what matters, and for that I will say it with gusto.